


Archer and Agent

by Not_You



Series: Other Avengers [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on Avengerkink:</p><p>So, I read a few awesome prompts where Civilian!Clint's dating Avenger/Agent!Coulson and became curious.</p><p>How would the two meet? How did they fall in love? Anything and everything else you want to add in would be awesome.</p><p>Bonus points for Avengers/SHILED agents/Nick Fury/whoever else making an appearance somewhere, somehow.</p><p>(I said this was a Five Times fic with no real theme, but it has one.  Five times they didn't fuck, and one time they did.  :D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Archer and Agent

1\. "Ohfuckohfuckohfuck..." If Clint can't stop his babbling at least his feet are moving as fast as his mouth. He would pray if he were a praying man, but as it is he just runs and curses. He doesn't even have real arrows, just the snub-tipped safety ones for the kids and he feels like he's about to crap himself in mortal terror, but whatever this thing is, it's got U.S. Agent pinned under one massive claw. He's doing a pretty good job despite that, but he was only in the way because he was helping Clint get the kids out of the way, and Clint pays his dues.

Clint whistles, loud and sharp. Whatever this thing is, it hates high-pitched noises, and looks over snarling as the Agent reloads his gun. Even on his back in the mud, he seems like he's got it together. His face is calm, almost serene as he fires again, this time into the thing's ankle as Clint blinds it with one safety arrow after another, each one precisely placed. Reeling and shrieking it lets the Agent up, and it's over pretty quick after that. He pulls another gun that works better, and it turns out that stun baton of his can cut, too. As the creature crashes to the ground to give its one last twitch, the Agent straightens his cowl and brushes something off his shield, turning to Clint.

"Are you all right, sir?" And he's way smaller than Clint was expecting and he talks like a suit and it's adorable.

He runs a hand over his short hair, feeling like a teenager. "Uh, yeah. You?"

He smiles. "Fine, thank you. Children all accounted for?"

"Every one. Thank you." And he means to say more, but then SHIELD agents are swarming over the place and he's gotta call everyone's legal guardian and keep the suits from bugging the kids too much and slap band-aids on anyone who can show him any blood and deal with Jasmine having hysterics because Jasmine freaks out over ghost stories, let alone monster rampages.

 

2\. His summer job is long over by the time he sees the Agent in person again. He's televised fairly frequently, but Clint doesn't count that, even if he is glued to the screen like a goddamn groupie every time. He even gets a little media exposure of his own, though people looking at him makes his skin prickle and he hates talking to reporters. Still, it's given him more than the usual cred with his class this year, and that's always good. Poor benighted little rich kids, they're always at least half afraid of him and maybe they should be. He likes the summer camp better, the kids are "underprivileged" and therefore from his same planet, but this is his meal ticket.

On good days it's funny, looking over these elaborately manicured grounds as the sun comes up, like he's getting away with something by existing. On bad days it makes him wish he still took speed. Today is a good day, though. Bright, crisp, low wind levels, cool but going to get warmer, and already warm enough that he's working in his undershirt, sweatshirt knotted around his waist. He's setting up the targets when he sees it. Some light aircraft, slewing back and forth across the sky. It's obviously in trouble, and Clint watches in horror as it makes a last, fatal loop and nosedives into the lacrosse field. He sprints over as two figures lurch out of the smoking wreckage.

"Your presence in this sector of the galaxy constitutes an act of war, and I am taking you in." The Agent is putting his opponent's tentacle-like arms in cuffs as Clint approaches, jogging to a stop. "Mr. Barton, what a pleasant surprise."

"...You remember me?"

"Of course I do. What are you doing here?"

"Teaching archery in about twenty minutes."

"Oh." And there's something speculative in the way he's looking at Clint right now and holy shit is the Agent cruising him? "Wearing that?" He asks mildly. The alien lurches up while he's talking, and he just reaches back and zaps it with the stun baton without even looking.

"...Yeah."

"How remarkable," is all he says, and then SHIELD's finest catch up again.

3\. Clint doesn't live on the grounds. He could, but he's pretty sure it would drive him insane. His neighbors are goddamn hippies, but he can be up high and there's good parking for his bike. It's been a week since the crash and they're still smoothing out the crater when he pulls in after a long day to see someone standing at the head of his usual space. He's got a sweet, gentle sort of face and his nose is a little crooked and he's losing his hair and he is adorable.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, hi." He looks sheepish and a little helpless as Clint cuts the engine and gets off, stretching.

"Any outstanding warrants I don't know about?"

"No, nothing like that. Phil Coulson." He holds out his hand, and Clint takes it automatically.

"Clint--"

"Barton. I know." Coulson fidgets nervously. "Most people don't recognize me out of uniform. It's probably the hair."

"Oh. So you were cruising me."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"C'mon up and have a drink, then." He doesn't have to tell Coulson twice, and it's no surprise that U.S. Agent can keep up on the miles of stairs.

"Attic space?"

"Yeah. I like to be able to see what's going on." He unlocks the door and leads the way in. It looks like a college kid's apartment and he knows it, but fuck it, the place is at least clean. "You a beer-drinkin' man?" He calls from the kitchenette, opening the fridge.

"Not as such, but it doesn't repel me."

"Grolsch or whiskey, Agent."

"Definitely Grolsch, then."

"Way too hot for whiskey," Clint agrees, and pulls out two of the cold green bottles and opens them, wandering out again to find Coulson examining one of his few pieces of wall art.

"This is beautiful."

"Good friend of mine painted it. Sent it to me because she said it told her to. You know how weird artists are."

"I do know."

 

4\. "I can't believe you're fucking the U.S. Agent."

Clint rolls his eyes, sprawled out on his mattress with with the phone to his ear and Dr. Who on mute. "We're not fucking. ...Yet, anyway."

"I have to admit, I'm surprised at you. What's taking so long?"

"GOD. DAMN. ALIEN. MONSTERS. They can't leave Earth alone for the two days it would take!"

"Two days? You're slipping, Barton."

"Tasha, you can't rush a real gentleman, and that's what I've got."

"You know, I thought he might be the real thing. Interviews and all that."

"He liked your painting."

"Ooh, definitely keep him."

"Narcissist. When are you gonna be in town again, anyway?"

"Sometime next month. And I fully expect you to have gotten laid by then."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"And to introduce me to Vigilance if you get half a chance. I don't care if she's straight."

"As far as I can tell, meeting the other Avengers is like meeting the parents. We're not quite there yet." A knock at the door makes him jump. "Call you back, someone's at the door."

It's Phil, a black eye and a half-healed cut on his cheek contrasting sharply with his perfectly crisp suit, and the grin that lights up his face at the sight of Clint. Clint hangs onto the doorjamb for a second until this embarrassingly swoony feeling passes. "Sorry to come by unannounced. I was just kind of glad to be alive and really wanted to see you."

Clint drags him inside and kisses him within an inch of his life, and it nearly comes down to frantic first time fucking against the door (one of Clint's favorite kinds, in the grand scheme of things) but Phil's motherfucking phone rings and someone has fucked up their paperwork. So it's back to base with blue balls for him, and angry jerking off and ranting to Natasha for Clint.

5\. It kind of is like meeting the parents. Clint has never been good at that shit, and right now he feels every inch the ex-carnie, ex-con, near-illiterate former welfare recipient that he is. He wants to hide behind Phil, or sink through the floor or something, but Phil just smiles at him. "You'll be fine."

"If you say so, boss," he mutters, hunching his shoulders as if his coat will hide him.

"I do say so. Come on." He tows Clint out of the elevator and into the heart of Avengers Tower. "Nick and Pepper should be around here somewhere--"

"What? That's how you see if it's done!"

"Just eat one, that's disgusting."

"Hey, guys!" Coulson calls. And after that it just gets surreal. Loki is as pretty in person as he is on camera, and Fury, who Clint has been the most worried about, actually seems to like him. Vigilance is every inch the Iron Lady even without her armor, but she also does this snorting little giggle that makes her seem about nine years old, and asks him to call her 'Pepper' because apparently everyone does. It's so much like an actual family dinner that it makes his head spin, from the arguing about how to tell if the pasta is done to Silver Sable slinking in like a sullen teenage daughter after everyone else is sitting down and Dr. Pym running in like a beleaguered breadwinner, guilty at being late.

The most bizarre thing is how comfortable it gets, even when Silver starts asking him snotty questions about books that she's gotta know he can't answer. Fury just rolls his eyes. "What did I say about these goddamn intellectual pissing contests, Silver?"

"I just want to make sure Phil's new toy is literate."

Pepper leans over and pats Clint's hand. "She's like this with everyone, it's nothing personal."

He just grimaces, and doesn't know what to say until Phil speaks up. "Clint doesn't read much because it's difficult." Clint wants to die, unable to believe that Phil has thrown him under the bus like this.

"Wiring fault?" Pepper asks gently, and laughs at herself at the look he gives her. "I'm sorry, it's my boyfriend's pet name for his own synesthesia and any kind of learning disorder."

Clint has to smile a little at that, and soon he's telling them all about his blue filter shades and getting everything printed in Dyslexie, while Silver mutters that of course it's different when reading is actually hard and you're not just lazy, that she's not a monster.

 

+1. "Sorry about the gauntlet," Phil says, and Clint laughs.

"Everyone's family is some kind of fucked freakshow, Phil. It's fine. I'm glad they care enough about you to corner me and ask about my STD status and my astrological sign and if I'm versatile or have a marked preference."

Phil groans, burying his face in his hands. "I'm going to kill them."

Clint laughs, easing the little SHIELD-issue black sedan through traffic. "Hey, at least they care. The only person who harasses my dates is Natasha. ...Granted, she's enough for five. I'm not allergic to anything, don't let her psych you out."

"Duly noted."

He slows and turns, making his way into the parking lot and easing in beside his bike. "You're coming up for a drink."

"I am definitely coming up for a drink."

"Excellent."

"You know it kills me that you always lead the way up, right?"

"What?" Phil's hands are suddenly on him, gripping his hips where the steps make them sway, lightly squeezing his ass. "...Oh."

Phil lets go, and Clint can hear him smile as they keep walking up. "I just want you to know that if I were in your class I would retain absolutely nothing."

Clint is not a praying man, but that might change as some merciful god keeps Phil's phone from ringing. "So, are you versatile or do you have a marked preference?"

"Right now I have a marked preference for you riding my cock."

"Christ, it's so hot when you say anything even a little dirty." Clint scrambles for lube (not a condom, because he doesn't have anything and Phil couldn't catch it if he did and isn't that just an early Christmas present?) and pretty soon Clint is sinking down on him, panting and whimpering. It hurts a little, but it's a good pain, and Clint's cock twitches as he takes the last inch, more full than he's been in far too long. The groan that comes out of his mouth is low and loud, and someone will probably complain, but he just can't care. "Fuuuck, that's good," he growls, setting up a deep, slow rhythm, sitting as upright as an equestrian. He holds onto the top of the headboard, panting and shuddering and letting Phil touch him. His hands are calloused and gentle, and Clint groans again when they find his nipples and rub slow and hard.

"You have the most beautiful arms in the world, you know."

"Th-thanks."

He speeds up after that, and eventually sits up to bite at Clint's chest and shoulders, holding him close with one arm and stroking his cock with the other hand until he sobs and comes, bucking and shaking for a long time, moaning when he feels Phil's come pulsing hot inside him. Phil kisses him hungrily, and he whimpers and melts into it, happier than he's been in a long time.


End file.
